Unchained Defiant Free
by stevebond1990
Summary: All it takes for Evil to succeed, is for Good Men to stand by and do nothing. A man from our world awakes in King's Landing shortly before Robert's Rebellion and in one selfless act derails the course of History. AU
1. Tyrion I

Unchained. Defiant. Free

A/N: this story will be a mix of GRRM's character POV and normal chapters, sorry if it gets confusing, also the first few chapters will be kind of short. Also I won't entirely be following canon, EG: Rhaegar will survive the Trident and Elia and Rhaenys will survive the Sack, but I don't know if Robert will live, die or someone else will, and I'll be taking a few liberties here and there, I know I'm wrong but I'm meddling to better fit the story, so no flames please.

If you recognise it, I don't own it.

Tyrion I

296 AC

' _They captured the moment quite beautifully, in this dwarf's humble opinion,'_ Tyrion thought, taking another draught from his goblet, ' _if only my foolish Sister… speak of the Great Other and he shall appear.'_

"Sister, how wonderful of you to join me," Cersei did not look pleased.

"Why are you here, Dwarf," Cersei demanded.

"Reminiscing, dear sister," Tyrion replied evenly, giving her a look that made her visibly uncomfortable, "perhaps I might wish indulge you in a history lesson, one that should serve well if need be."

Cersei looked around, noting the many paintings, four chairs, a table and little else, "why here?"

"Because what I wish to impart is told through these paintings, most of what I have to say is told second or third hand, now please, be seated," Tyrion gestured to the chairs, once they were seated he motioned to a painting of a man wearing a breastplate and steel pauldrons over chain mail, but the man's shadow showed the shape of a chained Direwolf breaking free, at the bottom of the picture was a midnight blue heraldic shield with a black Direwolf leaping, collared and shackled with broken chains trailing from the shackles, underneath were the words: Unchained, Defiant, Free, "tell me the meaning of this portrait?"

"It is a portrait of Lord Talion, Hero of the Khillesshandra, Demon of the Trident…" Cersei began but stopped when her brother shook his head.

"That is not what I mean," He said, "there is a deeper meaning in this picture, what is the significance of the shadow?"

"The obvious answer is his House Sigil," Cersei replied scathingly, then mulled it over, her eyes falling on the painting next to it, the one her brother had been examining, "his Sigil reflects his beginnings."

Cersei glared sharply as he clapped, but his smile was genuine, "well done, it does indeed. It is fourteen years to the day he rescued Brandon Stark from the Mad King, fourteen years since a nobody dared to do what was right, defying a King and shaming the Nobility of Seven Kingdoms."

Tyrion then stood up and walked in front of the next portrait: in the background, the Mad King standing behind the fire, his face lit and shadowed, perfectly capturing his madness. The throng of Lords and Ladies lining the walls, just watching. Rickard Stark in the centre, suspended above the fire and drawing his last breath. In the foreground, Brandon on his knees, struggling to remove the noose around his neck as his saviour stands above him, hauling him to his feet. It was a most accurate likeness.

He remembered that day very well…

* * *

282 AC, the Red Keep

If Aerys wasn't Mad before, he is now.

Fire? Since when could someone elect fire as their Champion?

Tyrion watched as Brandon's face grew steadily redder as he struggled to grasp the sword just out of his reach, not realising that by struggling he was just killing himself.

Just as the Stark heir's face hinted to purple, a great flash blinds him as a crack of the most terrible thunder erupted just in front of the mad king, blinding and deafening nearly everyone.

Nearly, but not all, being as short as he was Tyrion was largely protected by the crowd around him and found himself on his knees just in front of the assembled nobles, blinking furiously.

His vision and hearing slowly returned, he looked to the middle of the Hall as he heard a faint scraping of metal, he saw a dark red haired man in a green tunic, sea blue breeches of some unidentifiable material and black boots cut the rope tying Brandon's noose to the Tyroshi contraption just before the Stark Heir passed out, then opened the noose, drawing a gasping breath from the kneeling man as he was able to breath.

"On your feet!" the stranger shouted, swearing softly at Brandon's lack of response, "Do You _WANT_ To Die Here? MOVE!"

"Stop Him!" the Mad King shouted, even though he was still blinded, "He's Supposed To Die!"

Tyrion could just make out Rickard saying something but his words were barely more than screams, but whatever he said, Brandon started to move.

They didn't get far before the sole Kingsguard not by the Throne barred their way.

The stranger took a swing with Brandon's sword, easily blocked by Prince Lewyn Martell, who took two swings against the man, who moved surprisingly fast to avoid them, then feigned a down right to up left slash, the Prince blocked but cried out as his right knee was kicked out from under him, sending him to his other knee, the stranger then swung his sword into the Prince's unprotected neck, yanking it to his right as it connected and cutting to the bone, as the Prince collapsed, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood, Brandon stood up and the stranger led him out of the Hall at a run.

A few minutes later, everyone had recovered and the King bellowed furiously, the Kingsguard, bar Ser Barristan Selmy who stopped to check on the Prince, drew swords and took off after the two men, Ser Barristan following a few moments later.

But Tyrion already knew it was too late, the pair would be in the city by now and it really wasn't that hard to hide if you had half a brain, while he doubted Brandon had such, Starks were simply too honourable, he hoped for their sake his saviour did.


	2. Escape

Escape:

This is really getting annoying, ok so it's not an ideal situation but maybe I underestimated Northern Honour.

I spin round and grab Brandon by the throat and slam him into the alley wall, "listen up, Blue Blood, if you want to leave the City alive you'll do as I say, I understand this isn't ideal but by nightfall tomorrow half the bounty hunters in the kingdom will be after your head, we need to leave today, but they'll be looking for a Stark in fancy armour and me, not a pair of common sellswords. I appreciate deception is a recent addition to your vocabulary but learn its meaning well, unlike in the North the Grand Game is very much thriving here!"

Brandon looks like he wants to knock my block off but takes a breath and calms down, "do you have a plan?"

"You ditch those fancy leathers and pay for common cloth, mail and cheap weapons," I tell him, walking cautiously down the alley.

"Why should I pay?" he demands.

"I have no coin that'd be accepted, not pure enough," I admitted as I peered round a bend, "second, you still have your purse, and third, I just saved your life, parting with a Sovereign or two is a small price to keep it that way."

"Very well," he grudgingly agrees.

"Once appropriately attired, we buy or steal a couple of horses and leave through one of the gates, as I said they'll be looking for a Lordling and someone in strange clothing," I continued, "then we ride for your home, wherever that is?"

"North, up the Kingsroad to Moat Cailin," Brandon decides, "my brother Eddard will be calling our Banners within the week."

"We need to leave the city first," I remind him, scooping up a handful of the dirt from the alley floor, "for that we need to look the part, ditch the coat."

Brandon stared at my hand until I started applying the dirt to my arms and face, understanding instantly he removed his fine leather jacket and his boots, before scooping up some dirt to cover his own body and clothes with.

Ten minutes later we're nearly ready, my jacket is rolled up tucked into a canvass sack we found in a barrel, my shirt is piled on Brandon's discarded boots and my jeans are nearly black.

As Brandon puts a few finishing touches to his shirt and trousers I pick up his sword and lay it so the hilt is on a stone block and the tip is on the floor, Brandon looks up in horror as I raise my leg to stamp on the centre of the blade to snap it, "Wait!"

"Why would a common sellsword have castle forged steel?" I ask him, as I waited, "especially a Stark blade?"

Brandon's eyes went to the wolf's head pommel and sighed, "my father gave me that blade on my sixteenth Nameday."

"We can't be caught with it," I pointed out, but took out my coat and wrapped it up anyway, then looked to the corner that led to the main road, "know where the smiths are?"

"Follow me."

* * *

The street of steel was aptly named, many of the buildings had iron or steel facings, they settled on a smithy just under halfway along. Stepping inside I knew we'd made a good choice, good quality but not the sort of thing knights and Lords would buy.

We both picked a padded under shirt, chain mail hauberk and splinted mail vambraces and greaves, but Brandon settled on a brigandine in the Northern style of palm sized diamond plates riveted to a leather coat while I picked a riveted three piece breastplate with a thin blue leather cover, segmented pauldrons for my shoulders and a helmet that resembled an Imperial helmet from Skyrim, it was surprisingly comfortable.

My hand went to the coin in my pocket, Brandon had agreed to split the coin between us, and inspected a rack of swords, everything from Gladii to Dornish Falchions and Dothraki Arakh to Bastard swords.

One caught my eye, it reminded me of Theoden's sword in The Two Towers film but had a Celtic design to the hilt rather than a horse theme, but when I drew it out of its scabbard I gasped at the pale grey blade.

I ran my fingers along the metal to confirm it, a genuine crystal grain pattern.

Bulat. Wootz. Damascus.

I'm not sure which I was holding, it's not Valyrian Steel, but definitely the next best thing.

I ran my finger over the edge then jumped, cursing at the cut it made through both mail and leather, it was sharper than Brandon's sword.

"Apologies, Ser," the Forge Master said, "but I was surprised to see you examining this blade."

"It is quite remarkable, almost Valyrian," I replied, drawing the blade fully and testing its weight, it was about thirty three inches long and had a near full length fuller.

"Most put it back on noticing that," the Forge Master sighed.

"Fools, all of them," I spat, surprising the man, "this may not be Valyrian but all other steels pale in comparison, what did you make it from?"

"I added Dragonglass during the smelting," the man explained, "as I said, most discard it."

"How much?" the man blinked in surprise, "I mean it, how much?"

"A Single Moon, ser," I fished out seven silver coins and pressed them into his hand, "and your armour is ready," I followed him back into the main area where Brandon was securing his brigandine.

"This is actually better than my last," Brandon commented, "well, get dressed," I flipped him the bird and walked to the counter, setting down the sword and picking up the undershirt.

As I adjusted my vambraces, I noticed an oddly shaped recurve bow on a stand by the window, a closer inspection showed the arms to have steel reinforcements.

"How much for the bow?" the shop keep looked up, saw the bow in my hand and went back to counting the bill, "One Stag, Ser," I tossed two coins on the counter, picking up a quiver holding thirty arrows and secured both.

Upon settling the bill we left, narrowly avoiding a squad of Gold Cloaks searching the streets.

* * *

"What kicked off this whole mess?" I asked as Brandon helped me pick a horse.

"A month ago there was a Tourney in Harrenhal," Brandon started.

"That big arse ruin in the Riverlands that gives most intact keeps a run for their money?" I ask.

"Quite, the Crown Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, won the joust and named the older of my two sisters, Alysa, the Queen of Love and Beauty," Brandon explained."

"Bet his wife didn't like that," I mutter.

I just catch the corner of Brandon's mouth twitching, "three days after the Tourney they disappeared on the road to Riverrun to attend my wedding to Catelyn Tully, My Father, Lord Stark, and I believed Rhaegar was responsible."

"By what reasoning?" I ask curiously, turning away from the horse I was examining, a crossbreed between a Dornish sand stead and a Northern Garron, "could it not be someone looking to start a war between dragon and wolf, in order to profit from the chaos?"

"A mistake in hindsight," Brandon admitted, "but I'm not as cool headed as my brothers, Eddard and Benjen, so I hared off after the one I thought responsible with my Father following a day later."

"And that's all she wrote," I finished for him, "think these'll do?"

"Not fit for a Lancer but they have greater stamina," Brandon noted, "better for distance riding or ranging."

"We'll take these two," I called out, but as the stable owner came over Brandon took over the haggling, after he finished he showed me how to saddle a horse.

We mounted after I finished and Brandon looked me over critically, "have you ever ridden a horse?"

"Not in over ten years," I admitted, "my people developed machines that made horses obsolete for most day to day work so most are kept for racing or sport, I'd never seen one in person until my grandmother took me to the small holding she grew up on and one of the neighbouring holdings bred some for shows, while I rode a few times over three or four summer visits I wasn't able to properly learn. And where I come from you have all seasons in a year, not stretched out like here."

"You'd better learn fast," Brandon said as he set his horse walking, "as those machines aren't here."

"I'll need to learn to use a sword too," I added as I set off after him, "my people use powerful ranged weapons capable of killing a knight in full plate at half a mile, if you get close enough to need a melee weapon a knife is usually more practical."

"You did well against that White Cloak?" Brandon pointed out.

"I fought dirty," I reminded him, "I fully believed I would die there, but I surprised him, only a fool relies on luck like that. Speaking of which, I have an idea to get past the Watch at the gate."

* * *

' _This isn't going to work.'_

Somehow I keep a straight face as I drink the pisswater these fools call wine, I'm an ale and spirit man myself but seriously this is taking the piss, actually I think someone pissed in the vat.

"Hold!"

"Whazza matter ladz?" Brandon, or Callan as he'd be known for this escape attempt, asked while slurring slightly.

"Ye-hic-ah?" I agreed, "Iz Littl-fingur paying you to ruin people's Hic! Days?"

"Not exactly, that Traitor Stark was busted outta the Red Keep mid court and we're to keep an eye out for him," the Goldcloak explained, "so we gotta search everyone leaving the city and you two look too well armed for common sellswords."

"Not bleeding surprising, mun," I laughed loudly, "me 'n Callan 'ere were at one't taverns on the docks when we spotted some milk drinker with a bad dye job skulking round."

The Goldcloaks look at me oddly but I pass off the Lancashire accent well enough.

"S'true," Callan agreed, "e waz asking 'bout ships ta White arbour, so we follows him after he leaves the place, clobbers him, Hic! Then takes him to t'keep's gates, got thirty silver each for 'im, we did."

"Enough for decent gear fer, Hic, once, wine, an't rest I'm savin fer a pillow bosom'd blonde in Duskendale wit curves that'd sink a Dromon," I finished with a leer that had the Goldcloaks smirking.

"Alright, get on with ya," the sergeant says, waving us through.

"On t' house, lads!" I shouted, tossing them a pair of wineskins.

"Much obliged, safe travels!"

Neither of us speak again until we're in the Kingswood, Brandon looked back then laughed, "I can't believe they bought it?"

"I can't believe they call this pisswater wine," I retorted, taking a swig of ale to dull the taste as Brandon laughs at my reaction, "what's the plan from here? In two days they'll be sending men along the roads to Dale?"

"We ride to Rosby then turn north for Harrenhal and on to Riverrun," Brandon decides, "my betrothed is the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Trident, with luck he may help us."

"War over one woman," I muttered aloud after a while, earning a fierce glare from Brandon, "doesn't make sense to me. Still, not like it's unprecedented to my people."

"Really, how so?" Brandon asked curiously.

"Over two thousand years ago was the Trojan War," I started, "back before any real countries existed but a mess of city states."

"Like the Hundred Kingdoms in the Crownlands," Brandon mused.

"Similar," I agreed, "now one of these cities was Troy, famous for its walls, similar myth to Harrenhal in its heyday. The Prince, Paris, fell for the wife, or maybe betrothed not quite sure, of a rival Prince, the official history is he kidnapped her but I don't think we'll ever know for certain, you'll find out why in a minute, once the suitor heard he summoned an army made up of forces from several cities and set off after her, leading her to be later known as _'The Face that launched a Thousand ships',_ but the army was stopped at the gates of Troy. For nearly a decade the Greek army laid siege but the walls held, presumably there was a land route or port protected by sea walls as I know of no other siege lasting that long without some form of resupply."

I took another swig of ale and continued, "one day the Trojans awoke to find the Greek army and fleet gone but a massive wooden horse left at the gates, a single Greek was discovered, an archer with a lame leg, who told the Trojans the majority of the Greek commanders had grown weary of the war and deposed Helen's suitor and turned for home after building the horse as a tribute to the bravery and strength of the Trojans. The Trojans, for some reason, dragged it into the city, demolishing the gatehouse in the process as the 'Tribute' was too large to fit through."

"Asking for trouble, that," Brandon commented.

I give him a knowing smirk, "so the Trojans go on and celebrate, drinking and whoring into a stupor. Once the city was quiet, the Greek archer took a fallen spear and knocked on the underside of the horse's body, and a hatch opened."

Brandon looks at me in a mix of horror and wonder, "one hundred of the finest Greek soldiers left the Horse and secured both the palace and the walls, leaving the way open for the rest of the Greek army and safely rescuing Helen, what followed could have inspired the Slaughter of Castamere."

"Gods," Brandon exclaimed softly, "I pray it does not come to that."

"No one'd want to risk a long war," I pointed out, "not with how long your winters last."

"True, come on we've got a long road ahead and little time."

* * *

"This is what they call an army?" I wonder aloud as I pass about five hundred farmers with pitchforks, threshers, sharpened poles and only the clothes on their backs, on my right is a force of two hundred armed with mattocks and wearing padded coats with faded Tully arms on them. Not much better but a solid hit'd down a knight in plate and at least they're uniformly armed and somewhat armoured.

It took three months to reach Riverrun between my lessons and using backroads to dodge Loyalist patrols and ambushes on said patrols, and in that time The Vale and North under Lords Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark had rallied and gone to a war footing and bargained with Lord Tully for his forces.

I get that steel is expensive, however Iron isn't not in any of these three Kingdoms, the sheer disparity between the few knights, Lords and nobles and the many smallfolk in arms, armour, training and discipline is a horrific weakness that someone like me, Tywin Lannister or Randyll Tarly will ruthlessly exploit.

"Any semi trained professional or citizen army'll wipe the bleeding floor with them," I mutter as I take in more details. The majority of the army is made up of full time or part time guards and men-at-arms of the bannermen, but the peasants make for a large minority, meaning a massive number of ill equipped, poorly disciplined men with little, if any, training make up the bulk of the battle line.

Granted most of these people are conscripts but there's no way in hell these Lords don't know about standing armies and the benefits of a trained and equipped pool of men ready to match in as little as a week. By all accounts most wars in Westeros took so long, with relatively few set piece battles because the armies take so long to move into position.

"My Lord?"

I turn round to see a young lad in a Tully surcoat looking expectantly at me, "I'm no lord, lad, and you are?"

"Edmure Tully, Heir to Riverrun," he's one fellow I didn't expect to see, interesting.

"I take it your Lord father and the others want me?" I surmise.

"Yes ser," he replied smiling, "They await you in the main pavilion."

"I don't know my way around so lead on," I say and follow as he starts off.

"I heard you killed one of the Kingsguard?" Edmure asks, his eyes bright.

"Don't get your hopes up," I warn him, "I got lucky that day, not gonna deny it, if he'd attacked me I'd be rotting in a ditch somewhere, as it was I tricked him into moving into my counterattack. If you're going to take anything from that day learn this and learn it well; study your enemy, his strengths, his weaknesses and at the same time be mindful of your own, fight them on your terms, not theirs. Fight him where his strengths fail him, trick him into overreaching and exposing himself, never stay still long enough for him to land a strong blow, always move, always watch and always be ready to strike in that one moment of weakness. But most of all, watch them, look for patterns, that way if something seems too good to be true, like a strong right flank and centre but a weak left, then it is, know your enemy and you'll be able to tell if he's trying to trick you, and if you're clever you can turn their own trick against them."

"Wise words, Ser," I look up to see a knight in Tully colours smiling at me, then look sternly at Edmure, "take heed nephew, he is right."

"Yes uncle," the teen replied, "may I be excused?"

"Go, back to your duties," the lad hurried off, "so you're the brave sod that saved Brandon Stark's arse? Brynden Tully."

"Just call me Talion," I replied, shaking his hand, "any idea why they want me?"

"Probably to reward you with a title and a big bag of shiny gold," Brynden said, leading me to a massive tent with four different banners outside it, "that and ask for your help, I heard Brandon say you were pretty talented with a sword."

"I have a good teacher," I shrugged.

"Modest too, that'll endear you to the Northmen and Riverlanders," Brynden observed, "he also mentioned you said your people could down a knight at a hundred yards?"

"Can't help there," I argue, "I know the basics but it'll be a few hundred years before you could make the kind of weapons my people use, neither your steel nor tools are good enough."

"Pity," he looked visibly disappointed.

"Doesn't mean I don't have a few ideas, I can easily whip up something that'll make a mess of damn near anything if you find an alchemist and a man good at casting hollow balls of iron," I pointed out, "now, what usually happens when a company of armoured knights clashes with peasant conscripts?"

"The knights win," Brynden replied sarcastically.

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

" _Why_ do the knights win?" I repeat, " _what_ makes them better?"

"Their training," Brynden stated, "their armour and weapons, too."

"You take the time you can train a hundred farmers to hold a spearwall against anything but dragons," I pointed out, "give them decent spears and mail their chances go up further, do that to an entire army you eliminate the weakness in the ranks any competent commander would exploit…"

"By pitting his knights against an ill-trained, ill-disciplined and poorly armed rabble," Brynden mused in realisation.

"Expensive but so is raising an army in the first place, might as well invest in improving the quality of your own men," I added, "while quantity has a quality of its own, a medium quantity of mid-level troops backed by seasoned professionals would easily triumph over a larger army of poor quality troops."

"True," Brynden mused, "very true. And here we are."

I'll admit I'm slightly intimidated, up close this tent is bigger than a Norman church.

"Ser Brynden Tully and Ser Talion!" a squire at the tent flap announced.

"I'm neither a Ser nor Lord," I corrected him, "Just a man with a sense of right a wrong."

"For which House Stark is Grateful," I looked round at the voice and took in the line of Lords.

"Well I certainly agree with him," one lord piped up snootily, "couldn't you at least have made yourself presentable?"

"You can polish a turd but it's still a turd," I retorted, provoking a round of splutters and amused coughs, "I am what I am, I won't hide my nature behind a thin trapping of pretty cloth and a false smile, you'd see through it and think I believed you all fools."

"A fair point but that false smile may well be needed in your future," an older Lord below a white falcon pointed out.

"Lord Arryn," I said, bowing respectfully.

Jon Arryn made a small bow from his chair, "rescuing Lord Brandon is no small feat, not from the King's own Hall nor escaping King's Landing, such courage must be rewarded."

"I didn't do it for a reward," I retort, "I did it because hundreds of people stood by and watched as a man was murdered in a mockery of a trial. The very soul of my people was scarred by the cruelty and insanity of Tyrants, we swore Never Again! A scholar once said, _all it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to stand by and do nothing,_ every damn one there just stood and watched as one of their peers was murdered."

The Lords seemed to sit up a little straighter, Jon Arryn continued, "nevertheless, we cannot ignore the service you have given, therefore we have decided to grant you lands and a title…"

"Lord Brandon?" I looked to my right as Brandon stood up, walked around the table and over to me.

"Kneel," I dropped to one knee, I tried not to flinch as he drew his sword, "Do you…"

"Orys Talion," I supplied."

"Orys of House Talion, swear before the Old Gods and the New to serve House Stark, to answer any call and to defend its Heirs?" Brandon intoned.

"I, Orys of House Talion, Swear before the Old Gods and the New, to Serve House Stark, to answer any call, to aid and defend its Heirs and the North. Should I or my descendants stray from our Sworn Duty, may the Gods strike us down, So I Swear," I said.

"Rise Lord Talion," Brandon said, smiling broadly, "normally a Keep and Lands would be awarded as well…"

"But it is as yet uncertain anyone will be in a position to keep that promise," I deduced.

"We have to win first, yes," Brandon agreed.

"Or do what Dorne did and make anything but negotiated peace too costly," I pointed out.

"True," Brandon conceded, "we were about to feast in celebration of our return, join us."

"You want me to dine with you?" I asked in surprise, "but such an event is for Family, close friends and allies, I am none of these, m'lord?"

"Everyone started somewhere," Brandon replied, "come, sit next to Brynden."

I walked over to the indicated seat but stopped to look at the two men on either side, both nodded.

"Not what you were expecting?" Brynden asked with a smile.

"The title or being invited to eat?" I replied, "I expected the title, or rather _A_ title, but not the invitation, I'm a nobody." I looked to my left, "I'm sorry, I don't believe we were introduced

"Doing the impossible has made you somebody," the well-built but slightly pot-bellied man replied, "Lord Wyman Manderly."

"The Master of White Harbour," I said smiling, "a pleasure," I added holding out my hand to shake his.

"The pleasure is all mine, Lord Talion," Lord Manderly replied, shaking my hand, "we've all heard you rescued Lord Brandon but how did you do it, and escape King's Landing?"

"I don't know how I got to King's Landing, but I awoke in the tunnels under the Red Keep feeling like I'd split my head open, luckily I found a rain barrel in the courtyard I emerged next to and drank enough to clear my head," I began, "I eventually found myself in the Throne room shortly before Lord Brandon arrived, apparently my apparel was of sufficient quality for me to be accepted or at least ignored, Lord Brandon stepped in and was arrested for his challenge, Lord Rickard was summoned and, judging by how soon he arrived, was already in the city, you know what happened once he arrived."

I took a deep breath and an even deeper draught of ale from a tankard picked off a servant's platter, "I won't lie, I nearly didn't act. I was terrified, this madman was making a mockery of their executions, drawing out their deaths, there were hundreds of armed people in the room and not one was trying to stop this madness, instead they watched."

"I was fidgeting, going through my pockets when I found it, a Flashbang," I continued, "a Flashbang grenade is a non-lethal weapon designed to disorient people by creating a flash bright enough to temporarily blind and a bang that'll deafen temporarily, a perfect distraction."

"So you used this device to disorient the guards?" Wyman deduced.

"Long enough to get Lord Brandon's sword and cut him free," I confirmed, "there were a dozen soldiers too far away to be affected but only one tried to stop us leaving, a White Cloak by the doors."

"And you killed him," Brynden stated.

"I wasn't a swordsman," I told them, "I'd never even held one before them, but I'd done manual labour with a sledgehammer and pickaxe the past four months and had watched tournaments before, so I had the strength and knew a few tricks, I got lucky when he fell for one, I felt the edge cut to the bone in his neck, Brandon was kind enough to properly instruct me on the trip back, seems to think I have a talent for it but I don't see it myself."

"That explains the Red Keep, but not how you escaped the city," Wyman pointed out.

I smiled broadly, "you'll love it, I talked Brandon into buying arms and armour to pass ourselves off as sellswords…"


	3. Rhaegar I

Rhaegar I:

It was a warm evening, a calm night in King's Landing, but in the Red Keep, it was anything but calm.

He walked through the corridors to his wife's chambers quickly, the keep was thick with tension and the charred body of a knight suspended over a fire pit in the Throne Room was not helping.

He had to find Elia, she'd know what had happened.

"You don't think she's mad, do you?" Teryn Connington, Rhaegar's best friend, asked, "about the joke with the Stark girl?"

"Mad?" Richard Lonmouth repeated incredulously, "she'll be bleeding furious! Why do you think we're all wearing iron codpieces?"

Teryn didn't have time to respond as Rhaegar reached the door and knocked.

"Enter," a terse voice commanded, the three friends shared a look, then cautiously entered.

Princess Elia Martell was sitting at a window, doing needlework.

"Elia, my Love," Rhaegar greeted warmly.

"Husband," the three flinched at the chill in her voice, "returned from bedding your Wolf-Bitch?"

Rhaegar flinched like she'd physically struck him.

"Oh yeah, she's ma… Wait? What!"

"Wolf-Bitch? Alysa? But that was just a joke!"

"Then explain why her Father and Brother stormed into the Throne Room and demanded the King return her and her sister after you stole them?" Elia demanded, rising angrily.

"The Crown thing was our fault," Teryn admitted, flinching under Elia's harsh gaze, "Richard and I were pretty schloshed and bet Rhaegar that he wouldn't beat Ser Barristan, if he did he had to Crown the most beautiful woman after you the Queen of Love and Beauty."

"And I, being the fool I am, accepted," Rhaegar admitted, "I meant to tell you that day but Father's had me running around the Stormlands the past month."

Elia's face softened, "truly?" at Rhaegar's solemn nod she threw her arms around him and hugged him tight.

"Before I tell you what happened, there is something I must tell you," Elia said, urgency in her voice.

"What is it, my love?" Rhaegar placed his hands behind Elia's hips and pulled her close.

"Our daughter had a ' _Dream'_ ," she said.

"What did she see?"

* * *

 _A crowded hall, many animals line the walls, faint chains hold them back._

 _At the head is a black dragon, spitting fire and laughing madly, below him are four animals cloaked in white: one with a tower on his shield, the second had three wheat stalks, a third was a golden lion, a fourth's shield held a falling star._

 _At the far end, by the doors, is a viper cloaked in white._

 _In the centre are two large Direwolves; one, old and white, is suspended over a fire, being cooked alive. The other is the colour of slate, tied by a rope around its neck to a strange machine behind it. It is struggling to touch a sword just out of reach, but each movement tightens the rope, slowly choking it._

 _Just as the grey wolf's struggles start to die, there's a flash and crack of thunder, after the flash a small wolf the colour of twilight sky races out of the crowd, broken chains trailing from its limbs and a collar round its neck, it seizes the sword and cuts the rope holding the grey Direwolf, then pulls the noose from their neck._

 _The dragon roars in outrage as the two wolves make to leave, only to be stopped by the viper blocking the door. The small wolf attacks the viper and slays him quickly and viciously, then leads the Direwolf out before the viper's body stops moving._

 _The other Whitecloaks move now, three leaving while the other stops to try and help their comrade, but continues after noting they're dead._

* * *

"It ended there," Elia finished, settling into her husband's arms.

"And old Rickard and, I presume, Brandon showed up earlier?" Teryn asked from his seat by the door.

"They did," Elia told him, "Brandon Stark demanded his sisters released and you _to 'Come Out And Die!',_ your father had him and his companions arrested for plotting your murder and summoned their fathers to answer the charges. Rickard was the only one to demand a Trial by Combat, your father agreed. But when Rickard was armoured he declared the Targaryen champion was Fire!"

"Gods That's Insane! No offence," Richard exclaimed, then sent Rhaegar an apologetic look.

"None taken," Rhargar replied, "what happened then?"

"Rickard was suspended over a bonfire and Brandon was tied to a Tyroshi torture device that strangled him as he struggled to reach his sword, left just out of reach as Aerys promised to release him and save Rickard if he reached it. Just before he passed out, something was thrown in front of the King that gave a blinding flash and thunderous crash, blinding and deafening everyone near it. In the confusion a man rushed to Brandon's side, picked up his sword and cut him free."

"Wow, just… wow," Teryn muttered, "I don't think I know of a time where someone's been so brave."

"Or foolish, I doubt his Grace was pleased," Richard countered.

"Elia, what's wrong?" Rhaegar asked, wiping away his wife's tears.

"My uncle was by the doors when they tried to leave, he was far enough away to be only lightly affected by the device and confronted them as they approached, the unknown man killed him swiftly," Elia told him, "they then escaped into the city."

"Damn," Teryn muttered.

"Mamma?"

Everyone looked up to see a little girl poke her head out, "Pappa!"

Teryn and Richard bid the couple good night and quietly left as the child ran to her father.

"I'm here, Rhaenys," Rhaegar said gently, hugging his daughter.

"I had another dream, Pappa," the child said.

"Let me sit down and you can tell me about it," Rhaegar said, smiling, he then led her to a chair, sat down and pulled her into his lap, the girl hugging his chest immediately.

"There was sand, sand everywhere," Rhaenys began, "way off into the distance, one way led to green mountains, the rest led to the sea, south, southeast and east of the mountains were three towns, the middle one was on the coast and largest, but a small tower stood alone to the far west. There were three roads that formed a vague A shape between them with sparse fields near the junctions, desert animals travel the roads and work the fields, but then animals came from the mountains."

"The animals, led by a dark blue wolf, split into four groups, three built castles, I think they were castles, where each of the roads met, stopping the desert animals from travelling, the fourth burned the fields and attacked the animals sent to destroy the castles from the sides and back, retreating to a castle when chased by a large group of desert animals," she continued.

She shook her head in distress, "this continued many times, with the desert animals dying at the castle walls or in their towns, the attacks growing smaller and fewer. Then the wolf leads a group from one of the castles to attack the tower, it was guarded by animals in white cloaks and many desert animals, but they won, they then left carrying two large wolves, one was white and the other black and grey, the white had blood on its side the other was covered in it. As they went back to the castle, a red snake gathers many desert animals and leads them to towards the castle the wolf left."

"The wolf returns before the snake arrives and the two large wolves are carried inside," she says, "the blue wolf emerges as the red snake arrives and rallies the defenders, beating back the desert animals two times. On the third attack the white wolf emerges, dazed and confused, the snake uses the distraction to spit in the blue wolf's eye, making it collapse, and heads for the white wolf, cornering it."

She looks her father in the eye, "just as it raises its spear the blue wolf attacks from behind, throwing the snake from the walls, the snake is hurt badly by the fall but not killed. The desert animals then attack the blue wolf who fights fiercely, killing many, but slowly weakens as the venom eats away his eye. The desert animals circle him as he collapse but the white wolf picks up a sword and kills one, forcing the others back. The attack is broken as more animals come from the mountains, including a big black wolf and a red animal with a burning sword, the desert animals pick up the red snake and run home."

"The red animal finds the white and blue wolves first, the white wolf begs to him, the red animal starts singing and fire burns in the blue wolf's eye, the fire disappears revealing the wolf has a pale blue eye instead of his dark blue one. The White wolf is sent to the mountains by the black wolf and he and the blue wolf and red animal go to the large town where the red snake was taken, and then I woke up," the girl is nearly in tears, "What does it mean, Pappa?"

"I don't know," Rhaegar replied, hugging her, "but I'll think about it and tell you when I know."

Rhaegar smiles as his daughter nods, "now, you need to go to bed, it's very late and you have lessons in the morning," he laughs as his daughter pouts, "I know how you feel, I was much the same at your age, but it doesn't change anything, now hurry along."

The two watch their daughter as she hurries back to her room, waiting until the door is closed.

"My Love, does it mean…"

"Dorne will be invaded and made to bleed like they did so to every invasion before," Rhaegar confirmed grimly, "what I don't understand is the two Direwolves, why would they be in Dorne?"

"Neither do I, Husband, neither do I."


	4. Cersei I

A/N: part of this chapter was inspired by a video of the Wolfe Tones playing Come Out Ye Black and Tans Live, the original Lyrics belong to Dominic Behan.

If you recognise it, I don't own it.

Cersei I

It was shameful, crude, disgusting, uncivilised, _barbaric_ …

Yet utterly satisfying.

She held back a flinch as the wet sound of flesh striking flesh cut through the air, it had been several hours since the mixed force of Haigh, Blount and Frey men, with a handful of soldiers in Lannister Red and Gold to protect herself, her cousin Daniella and Daniella's mother, Genna Lannister, had encountered and captured the two hundred Northern soldiers and since camp had been made the Men-at-Arms had been amusing themselves by abusing the prisoner's, one in particular was regularly singled out and was lying in the dirt, his face starting to go black and blue.

"Who is that Man?" she asked her uncle, Emmon Frey, the only Frey not partaking, "why do they single him out so?"

"That is Howland Reed," Emmon replied, "The Heir of House Reed and the next Lord of the Neck. They're kicking the flying shit out of him because those three squires pulled the same stunt at the Harrenhal Tourney but were chased off by Lyanna Stark. The following day a mystery knight entered the joust and knocked their knights, including me, flat on our arses and held our horses and armour to ransom and commanded us to discipline our squires after they apologised publicly for their shameful behaviour. I needed no real persuasion, swamp midget or not he's one of our peers and deserves the respect worthy of his station," he scowled heavily as his brother, Aenys, delivered a heavy kick to the fallen man's ribs, "the others disagree, purely because he is a Northerner."

Cersei looked at him, "but are not Northerner's savage barbarians?"

"Cersei," Genna said gently, "the Northerners have different customs and beliefs, passed down from the First Men, the Southern Kingdoms hold to the belief's passed down by the Andals, that is the only reason most of our peers believe such rot, by making the Northerners seem less human they feel superior."

"And helps them ignore the fact the North withstood every invasion before Aegon the Conqueror," Emmon chipped in, "Only Dorne has a better record regarding invasion."

"What are you looking at?" Cersei looked up in time to see the Crannogman looking out of the circle of men and into the darkness beyond, which was… strange, what happened to the lanterns along the wall?

Just as she opened her mouth, she saw… something, then it darted away.

"Something's wrong," Emmon noted, rising and reaching for his sword belt, "I can't see the wall, or the horse pen, the lanterns are out."

" _What do you think this is, Khilleshandra?"_ Aenys taunted Reed.

"Khilleshandra? Isn't that a town in the Riverlands?" Daniella asked.

"Aye, a Royalist force numbering three thousand went there, running parallel to the Kingsroad, in order to disrupt rebel supply routes but the rebels were drilling a new force nearby and though caught flat footed were able to prepare a defence," Emmon explained, "supposedly the man that rescued Brandon Stark commanded the scouts".

"What happened?" Daniella asked.

"Slaughter," Emmon said grimly, "the town sits a short way from the Fleet river, the rebels anchored one flank with archers in the forest and had a spearwall to the river on the other, the town seemed the weakspot so the cavalry thundered in through the open gate, it was a trap."

"Houses had been pulled down to block the roads, funnelling the knights right where the rebels wanted," Emmon elaborated, "just as the town square came into sight a column of spearmen blocked the road, the front ranks charged but the spearmen ranks were too deep and every horse was piked, the next rank of knights slowed and tried to fight but archers appeared on the rooftops and fired down, as the knights tried to back out they threw small iron balls that burst open, spewing burning oil over man, beast and cobbles. In the ensuing chaos several knights were dragged from their panicked horses and knocked out, including Connington's boy. The loss of the cavalry and low number of archers combined with the overall higher quality of the Northern troops caused heavy casualties and a rout."

"For which these men desire revenge," Genna finished as Aenys drew his sword.

" _And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?"_ Aenys began loudly, forcing Reed to look up at him.

" _Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know,"_ the men chorused.

" _A coat of gold, a coat of red, a lion still has claws_ ," Cersei saw it again, many of them, pale blue lupine eyes closing in on the circle of light.

"Uncle," she whispered fearfully.

"I see them," Emmon replied.

" _And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as y_ -Uhhckk!" the camp fell silent, staring in disbelief at the blade that erupted through Aenys' chest.

"Mine are sharper," Cersei heard him as though he was next to her, she couldn't place the accent but it sent a shiver down her spine, then she noticed the eyes painted on his helmet, "NOW LADS!"

She froze in terror as a horde of Northmen surged from the darkness under a hail of arrows and shining balls that trailed smoke. The balls struck the ground, several tents, and the three armed guards present with a sound she'd only heard when her father threw down a wine glass.

Who makes weapons from glass?

But as her aunt seized her arm and pulled her up, she realized just how effective these bizarre weapons were, the patches of flaming oil both harmed combatants and prevented the defenders forming a united front, she tried not to think of the men actually struck by them.

"Move NOW!" Emmon shouted, blocking a sword and punting the offending Northman's balls into his throat.

Cersei gathered her skirts and took off after her aunt, all around men were fighting in small groups, her eyes widened as two Lannister guards were taken down by three spearmen leaping from a burning wagon. The movement jogged the wagon loose and it rolled into the women's path, Genna clambered under the vehicle, stopping under it and gestured for the girls to follow, Daniella crawled under first, one of the surviving guardsmen helping her up, Cersei hesitated to follow but her aunt reached out and pulled her knee from under her, forcing her to crawl.

The wagon creaked and cracked ominously above her but she emerged with her aunt unscathed, she jumped as Emmon clambered over the wagon, which collapsed as he landed. The group set off at a run, the guards and Emmon keeping any fighter, Northern or friendly, from getting too close.

The fighting continued to rage but it was clear the Northerners were winning, friendly colours were getting fewer and through the flames and smoke other groups could be seen fleeing.

They stopped in shock as two men stumbled out of a smouldering tent, fighting over a dagger, the two didn't seem to notice them so they ran on.

"The horse pen, Hurry!" Emmon called, ducking an angon that buried itself in a Blount soldier's shield, this was followed by a glass ball that shattered on the man's arm, spreading burning oil over his arm and chest.

The fighting was dying down as fewer friendly soldiers were seen, only in ones or twos, and all were trying to escape.

Just as they reached the clearing near the pen, the gate burst open and seven horsemen rushed past, galloping for the camp gate and releasing the other horses, panicked by the smoke.

"Boros you Idiot!" Emmon bellowed at the lead rider but quieted as the sounds of a shield wall forming preceded the clash of steel and screams of men and beast dying, too soon a heavy silence followed.

"There's no way out," Daniella said hurriedly, verging on hysterical tears, "There's No Way Out!"

"Hush, child," Genna said gently to her daughter, "panicking will not help now."

"We need to stay calm," Emmon agreed, "give them no reason to harm us."

"Probably the smartest thing I've heard from a Frey," the group looked round to see over a dozen soldiers and archers forming a half circle, swords and bows drawn, in the centre was a bruised and bloody Howland Reed, "drop your swords."

The guards looked ready to fight but Emmon gave them a hard look and dropped his, they followed suit, "now what do we have here?" Howland asked, looking over the women.

"Three she-lions a long way from Pride Rock," Cersei locked her gaze on the speaker, a tall man between 5'10 and 6', clad in mail, a breastplate, segmented shoulder guards and a strange but protective helmet, in his hands was a sword of average length, both it and his armour was covered in blood. On his helmet were the icy blue wolf eyes she'd seen in the dark earlier, but dropping her gaze to his own sapphire eyes left her feeling like he was weighing her very soul.

"M'Lord, we have no quarrel with House Lannister," a large, powerfully built man in heavier armour leading the spearmen now entering the camp said, "we should let them go on their way."

"A sound suggestion, Ser Rodrik," the man said in a tone most familiar to Cersei, often hearing it from the Imp, "If we hadn't just painted the fields red with most of their escort."

"There are a lot of bandits on the roads these days," Howland chipped in.

"Not to mention the hundreds of blue balled soldiers on both sides patrolling the roads," the stranger continued, "that would think little of using three beautiful, defenceless women then dumping their bodies in a ditch somewhere."

"I don't want to have to explain that to Tywin Lannister!" Howland declared.

"They come with us," the unknown Lord ordered, "find them horses, we'll take them to camp then Lord Tully can arrange transport to Lannisport," the man then turned to his men, "strip the camp of anything of value, material and financial, we leave in three hours!"

"We have a perfectly functional Wheel house," Cersei protested, regretting instantly as scornful eyes bore into her.

"That coffin on wheels will only slow us down," the man retorted, "we're a military force in hostile territory, we can't afford to go slow enough for that thing to keep up, we'll be ambushed and I'll be damned if I lose a single man just to keep your pampered arse comfortable!" he turned back to Ser Rodrik, "find them horses," he then started back into camp but stopped by the wheel house, taking a torch he examined the front axle, "and someone get that chain off, we'll melt it down back at camp, we'll get a few dragons out of it."

Cersei opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by a nudge from her aunt, who curtsied to Ser Rodrik and Heir Reed, "Thank you, my Lords, for your generosity."

Cersei stopped listening as Reed replied, no one had ever treated her like that, intellectually she knew there were those who would not care for her beauty or name, but actually facing someone who not only resisted her charms but _Looked Down_ on her was an unsettling experience.

As her aunt gently took her arm and led her away, she wondered if this was how people felt when she spoke to them.

* * *

Three days…

Three days of near constant riding, well two and one in the back of a wagon, had left Cersei both disillusioned with the grandeur of war but rather relieved to see the Rebel camp come into view.

The wagon she and Daniella rode in was an enigma, at first glance it was a normal peasants wagon but a look underneath showed layered strips of metal between the axles and frame, while not as comfortable as the wheel house it certainly gave a gentler ride on the frankly terrible roads.

As the force entered through the gates great cheers rose from the assembled rebel host, as they rode towards a number of large tents, the soldiers started singing…

" _I was born on a Wintertown street, where the Royal drums did beat,_

 _and the loving southern feet they walked all over us,_

 _and every single night, me da would come home tight,_

 _and invite the neighbours out with this chorus,"_

The column joined in moments later, startling her at their loudness.

" _Come out ye Black and Reds, come out an fight me like a man,_

 _Show your wife how ye won honours down in Crownlands,_

 _Tell her how the Northern Army, made ye run like hell away,_

 _From the green and lovely lanes of Khilleshandra,"_

The column fell silent while the camp sang,

" _Come tell us how ye slew, them Ghiscari two-by-two,_

 _Like the Andals they had spears and bow and arrows,_

 _How bravely ye faced one, with yer sixty foot dragon,_

 _And frightened them damn natives to the marrow,"_

The column chorused again,

" _Come out ye Black and Reds, come out an fight me like a man,_

 _Show your wife how ye won honours down in Crownlands,_

 _Tell her how the Northern Army, made ye run like hell away,_

 _From the green and lovely lanes of Khilleshandra,"_

The strange Lord sang the next verse,

" _Come let us hear you tell,_

 _How ye slandered Great Rickard,_

 _When ye thought him well and truly persecuted,_

 _Where are the sneers and jeers, ye loudly let us hear,_

 _When our leaders of '16 were executed,"_

The camp seemed to sing even louder,

" _Come out ye Black and Reds, come out an fight me like a man,_

 _Show your wife how you won honours down in Crownlands,_

 _Tell her how the Northern Army, made you run like hell away,_

 _From the green and lovely lanes of Khilleshandra,"_

The Lord lead the column in the final verse,

" _Come out ye southern Huns,_

 _Come out and fight without yer dragons,_

 _Show yer wife how you won honours up in Torrhen,_

 _Ye Murdered Free Young Men, and ye'll do the same again,_

 _So get out and take yer bloody army with ye,"_

The army and camp joined in,

" _Come out ye Black and Reds, come out an fight me like a man,_

 _Show your wife how ye won honours down in Crownlands,_

 _Tell her how the Northern Army, made ye run like hell away,_

 _From the green and lovely lanes of Khilleshandra,"_

The singing died as the wagon reached the edge of the noble's tents.

"Howland!"

Every eye, bar the soldiers moving off to their part of the massive encampment, was drawn to the younger of the two Starks, who had been leaving the largest tent with a pretty redhead on his arm but had sprinted away at the sight of his friend.

"Ned, it's good to see you," Howland Reed replied, shaking his friend's hand.

Ned then turned to the unknown Lord, "Lord Talion, you were instructed to keep your forces here."

"You mean sit around while Umber and Karstark argued over whether it was worth rescuing him," Lord Talion replied, "Bollocks! He's one of us and I'll be damned before I leave any of ours to the tender mercies of the Royalists while the shite-fer-brains idiots argue over what to do. As it was I acted just in time, a Frey had his sword out and ready to use."

"It's true, Ned," Reed agreed.

Stark shook his head, "get cleaned up then find me, then we'll report to Brandon and Lords Tully and Arryn," he then returned to the redhead as the two men rode off, "Catelyn, could you see to our guests needs?"

"Of course, Husband," the young woman moved towards the waiting Lannisters, and as she came closer Cersei could see she was only a little older than herself, the woman curtsied in greeting, "welcome Ladies Lannister, I hope your trip was not too uncomfortable?"

"Not as it could have been," Cersei admitted, "the wagons rode better than was expected."

"Cersei!" Genna scolded, "I apologise Lady Stark, my niece does not yet know her manners."

"It is forgiven, tis not easy for a Lady to be among soldiers for long," Catelyn replied graciously, "if you would follow me, my maids will see you are bathed and given fresh clothing."

"Our thanks, Lady Stark," Genna then led the two girls after her.

* * *

Cersei wasn't decided on Northern feasts, on the one hand they had a more close knit feel of family to them, making her feel like she was intruding but equally longing for that closeness as feasts in her Father's hall felt cool and distant. On the other the Northerner's customs were strange, which left her feeling wary given the boisterous behaviour of some of them, particularly a giant of a man named Umber.

Then that Lord Talion entered with Howland Reed, Eddard Stark and Brynden Tully, he wore breeches of a strange cut and pale blue cloth, a pale blue shirt under a twilight blue tunic with black sleeves and collar, and most curious was a length of chain that ran from his shoulder to his wrist.

"Umber?" the giant turned round only for Talion to slam a chain wrapped fist into the giant's cheek, sending crashing onto the table behind, "That's for suggesting we throw one of our own to the Dragons!"

"One… _our_ own?" the giant mumbled, then recovered his wits somewhat, blinking blood out of his left eye, "You weren't born in the North!"

"His blood may'na be of t' North but his Heart is," a rugged man with a greying beard and hair that resembled Eddard Stark declared, "Here, join us Lad!"

"Who is that man?" Genna asked Catelyn curiously as the four men joined the celebrating Lords.

"Lord Talion," Catelyn replied formally, "he rescued my former betrothed from King's Landing and gave him the title on returning to Riverrun."

"A title but no lands?" Daniella asked.

"The thought at the time was that it was uncertain either he or Brandon would survive for the exchange to be honoured," Catelyn explained, "however I know discussions have continued since and he seems close to making a decision. He used the reward money to raise and train a force of soldiers, expanding the three hundred infantry given by Brandon to over a thousand of a mixed infantry, cavalry and artillery formation based on ideas that seem radical to us but proved highly effective at Khilleshandra, I know my uncle and husband are interested in expanding and refining his Legion."

"I noticed some of his men threw glass balls that contained burning oil," Cersei said.

"Apparently his people mastered glassmaking a thousand years ago," Catelyn said, "he demonstrated a method of glassmaking then used it to introduce the idea of grenades, a small ball or cylinder of metal or glass that contains oil or powder that burns fiercely, the oil is his own secret, once demonstrated my Father and Lord Arryn were sold on the idea."

"I can see why," Cersei commented, "are all his men armed with steel?"

"Yes, the third thing he demonstrated was a new way of making steel, but the details are carefully guarded, while it took some time to get the right form of steel there's been a steady supply since," Catelyn said.

" _ALL_ his men have steel?" Daniella asked, even the smallfolk?"

"Most of his force is drawn from volunteers from the Smallfolk," Catelyn explained, "the rest are men-at-arms, sellswords, or hedge knights looking for regular pay and two good meals a day."

"How can he afford it?" Genna asked curiously, "and how can a force made of smallfolk be so effective?"

"He trains them, every day for months," Catelyn elaborated, "until their training becomes second nature and their discipline is ironclad, I thought he was wasting his time until Khilleshandra. As for cost, my Father and Lord Arryn gave their own rewards in gratitude as well as the Starks, he pays the men at a flat rate based on rank and role, its less than they'd get from other Lords after battles but they're paid more regularly and he provides their meals for free. Quite attractive given how few battles there are and the length of time between them."

Just then the Lords began the song the soldiers had sung, "What song is that? I've never heard it before," Daniella asked.

"Come out ye Black and Reds," Catelyn explained, it was written after Khilleshandra, the lyrics mention many grievances caused by the Targaryens."

"Ghiscari?"

"A people the Valyrians conquered in their early years," Genna told her daughter.

"Leaders of sixteen?" Cersei asked.

"The Greystark rebellion," Genna again explained, "over taxes and oppressive laws the king made against the North, Royalist forces attacked before Lord Stark could properly address the issue, the North resents the unlawful attack."

Cersei was silent a moment before addressing something that intrigued her, "how is it you were betrothed to Brandon yet married Eddard?"

"Cersei!"

"It is a fair question," Catelyn said placatingly, "it was three months before we Knew Brandon had escaped alive and my Father would not call his Banners unless the betrothal was honoured, so Eddard and I were wed," she looked over at her husband in thought, "I must confess he is a better match to me than Brandon, as people we fit more closely."

Cersei sent her an understanding look that was missed as Lords Arryn and Tully entered; both men were surprised by the three lions.

"I have grave news," Lord Arryn said cautiously, eying the three women.

"Just say it, if it's that important it's nothing they won't hear of on the road to Riverrun," Lord Talion pointed out.

"A fair point," Lord Arryn agreed, "very well, Lord Robert Baratheon is coming north to join forces with us but Royalist forces under Connington are closing in."

"Bugger," that pretty much summed it up.

"Lord Talion, are your forces ready?"

"I have twelve hundred ready to march, but only half are ready to fight," the man replied warily, with a look that said _'you know this'._

"Then I pray that will be enough, tomorrow you, I and Lord Eddard will march to meet Lord Baratheon," Lord Arryn declared.

"By Your Command," Talion said and marched out.

Catelyn rose as Eddard came over to her, "Ned…"

"I will return, My Love," he said gently, taking her hands and kissing her softly, "I promise."

Catelyn watched with a silent plea as her husband reluctantly left to prepare.

As she watched them, Cersei wondered if she would feel the same pain when her Father eventually married her off.


	5. Bells

A/N: Orys will not get involved with Cersei except as an adversary, I'm currently leaning towards Lyanna as his love interest, Robert's part will be explained below, and the first part of the prologue is in 296 AC, so Tyrion is there before shortly Jon Arryn would be poisoned and therefore is a man, Tyrion is 14 at the time of the second, why he's there will be explained later, but ge is older in this story.

* * *

Bells

It was cold for a summer eve in Westeros, though that may have had more to do with the mood of the camp.

The Stormlanders had taken a hammering after beating feet out of Summerhall, out of eight thousand less than four had made it north and half had continued on to Riverrun, we were outnumbered four thousand to five, an Baratheon outrider had been met by my Boers, (the mounted archers I used as scouts and light infantry) faint from blood loss with two arrows in his leg, he recovered enough to report Lord Robert had taken his forces to Stony Sept after being wounded in a rearguard battle to rest and recover, but the forces under Jon Connington were closing in fast.

After several minutes of fruitless debate I proposed a plan to Lords Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark:

According to the rider, the Royalists knew Robert had fled this way, and with his wounds couldn't have made it too far, but didn't actually know _where_ he was.

The first thing they'd do was search the town, so we'd wait until they committed forces to the search. The town had grown from a village that straddled a branch of the Goldroad, with large gatehouses on the main road at each end of the town, the western gatehouse had been destroyed by fire decades earlier and never rebuilt, the wall being filled in and the main road being routed around the town with a new gatehouse on the south side, the old road still cut through the heart of the town, that would be our advantage.

The bulk of the North and Vale detachments would advance round the South and North walls respectively while a small reserve force waited with ladders, once the flanking forces engaged the reserve would scale the walls and proceed down the old road to the town centre and, joining with Baratheon troops, push the Royalists out of the town and into the closing jaws of the flanking forces.

There was a lot of protesting, though mainly over the fact they were listening to me, in the eyes of the Vale knights I was a jumped up commoner with ideas beyond his station.

I _AM_ a jumped up commoner with ideas beyond _them_. Needless to say, given my recent accomplishments, my plan was accepted.

* * *

"I hate this," I grin humourlessly into my whiskey at Jory Cassel's voice, "I can't stand this waiting around, my Father and Uncle have gone to fight with Lord Stark…"

"Be careful what you wish for, lad," I warned him, "or you just might get it."

I swirled my cup a little as he stared at me, then a Vale knight heading our way, I silently thank the old gods for remembering how to brew whiskey, a jury rigged still was in my tent and was normally attended to by my squire, though not today as he was sitting across from me.

"The waiting is always the worst part," I told Jory, "remember that, but there's a certain calm to it that you'll never find anywhere else. Make your peace, once we get the word we'll be over that wall and on our own in the thick of Connington's best men. Glory's what old men tell kids like you so you'll run off and die for them, the only _Honour_ in war is living to see it end, savour the peace while it lasts, not all of us will see tomorrow."

"Wise words, Lord Talion," the Valeman complimented.

"I don't believe we've been introduced," I frowned as I took in his face in the moonlight, he looked familiar but I couldn't place him, "are you one of Lord Arryn's retinue?"

The knight smiled, "no, my uncle granted me my own command, however. I am Ser Denys Arryn."

I stood up and held out my hand for him to shake, "I knew you looked familiar, the resemblance is clear, well met, Ser, please join us."

The knight shook my hand and eyed the drink as he sat, "do you think it is wise to drink before battle?"

"This is something I've made myself," I told him, "there's just enough to put one man on his back, I haven't had time to make more so there's barely a cup each across six hundred men, but it's got a kick that'll keep them awake, try some and see, it's not something to down like wine or ale though."

Ser Denys took the offered cup, stared at the brown liquid warily then took a drink, it took all we had not to laugh out loud as his eyes shot open in shock, soft chuckles accompanied the knights wheezing cough before he composed himself, "What in the Hells is that?"

"Whiskey," I replied, "what we call a spirit in my homeland, it has roughly three times the alcohol of your average wine, not counting fortified wines, and seven times that of ale. But you can't drink it like wine or ale, you have to sip it or you'll burn your throat, figuratively speaking."

"Is it common?" Ser Denys asked, taking a more reserved sip.

"Fairly, but drink is priced based on alcohol content there so it's more expensive," I told him, "something to savour rather than get wasted on. Did you want something when you came over?"

Ser Denys nodded, "my uncle placed me beside you in the order of battle, so I wanted to know your plan?"

"I'm taking the Legionaries, the heavy infantry," I explained, "down through the streets while the Boers cover us from the rooftops, they know the drill from Khillesshandra, we advance to the main square and try to link up with the Stags men in the town, if not then they'll come looking once the fighting starts, we then try to push the black an' reds out of town and into the waiting jaws of the flanking forces. I know your men are knights or nobles, so you'll be trained to fight one on one, take my advice, don't. In street fighting like this it's a guaranteed way to get you killed, pair up and watch each other's backs."

Ser Denys looked ready to speak when the Sept bells began to toll.

"Time's up," I said grimly, "Form Up!"

The men scrambled to collect swords, shields and secure their armour as the bels rang on, I nodded to Ser Denys, who returned the gesture and hurried off to his own men, then collected my shield and headed to the assembly point.

* * *

Of the twelve hundred odd men I command, I have six Maniples of Legionaries (720 men), two Maniples of Boers, (240 men), two of Cataphracts, (240 men) and two half strength Maniples of Engineers, (120 men), of these only three maniples of Legionaries and one each of Boers and Cataphracts were both trained and blooded, it was these men I brought with me.

Of these men, only one Maniple of Legionaries and the Boers were with me, the rest were with Lord Stark.

The Legionaries weren't equipped with plate armour like Ser Denys' knights, but fell squarely in the heavy infantry class: helmet, three piece breastplate and segmented pauldrons over a chainmail hauberk with steel bracers and greaves. Normally armed with a nine foot spear, left at camp due to impracticality in town streets, a double edged longsword with thirty six inch blade and a four foot by three foot oval shield based on a Roman cavalry shield I saw once, slightly curved and with the normal Westerosi shield grips, though the hand grip was a hands width lower than the forearm grip for better leverage.

The Boers traded the breastplate and right pauldron for better agility, and the Cataphracts were armoured identically to the Legionaries.

* * *

As the last men formed up, my mind turned briefly to the Greenfather back in camp, the Old Gods weren't worshipped in the organised manner of the Seven or Christian faiths but priests had existed, still existed, and I'd had the fortune to meet one working as a healer, I haven't looked back since.

"Gods of our Fathers, Gods of The Children, guide our hands through this day and shield our hearts, that we may see dusk tonight and dawn tomorrow, We Ask of Thee," the prayer came from my lips, not quietly, but not loud enough for the Valemen to hear.

"We Ask of Thee," the Northerners chorused.

A breeze swept through the trees and it felt like it was embracing me, but in that moment the flare I gave Eddard soared overhead.

"Good Luck, Lads," I said aloud, then pressed the tin whistle to my lips and blew a long sharp blast, whistles chorused down the line, signalling the advance.

As one nearly fifteen hundred Riverlanders, Valemen and Northmen charged out of the trees, not silently but absent of the customary war cries, our most powerful weapon was surprise so we had to be over the wall before the enemy knew we were here.

The wooden ladders clattered against the wall as archers threw grappling irons, in seconds men were climbing. The walls were strangely absent of life, even the town watch was missing, I counted my blessings and organised my men as they arrived, a glance over my shoulder showed the Boers were already moving onto the rooftops.

The last of my men clambered over the battlements, clearing the way for the following Umber men, I looked up just in time, "Jory!"

The lad spun round to look down at me, for a moment time stood still.

"Keep an eye out and your wits sharp, I want to see you when this is over," I shouted, "Promise me you'll be there!"

"I Promise, M'Lord!" he shouted back.

"Take care, and give 'em Hell!" I shouted, I then turned to my Infantry as Jory hared off, "alright lads, form up, Twos and Fours, just like before, stay close to your partner and watch each other's backs!"

The old road lay below, straight as an arrow leading to a square with a large statue mounted over a fountain at its centre, it was clear for now, but soldiers in red and black could be seen moving about the square.

"This Way!" Ser Denys yelled, before I could reply he'd set his three hundred knights into a charge up the old road.

"Damn It," I swore, "Remember Your Training, Forward!"

The advance was almost unchallenged, but a squad of Men-at-Arms reached the end of the street and set to breaking down doors before the Valemen reached the square, they cried in alarm as the knights charged them and warned their comrades, resulting in black and reds flooding into the old road.

Time seemed to slow down, as it seemed to do in battle.

Ser Denys and his men were certainly gifted in swordsmanship, leaving a trail of bloody and butchered bodies in their wake. Not that my own men were slacking, but where Ser Denys and his foes hacked and slashed in great arcs, we used short precision thrusts and closer arcs, relying on the edge and point more than sheer strength.

As time wore on, I noticed the Valemen were advancing rapidly, their foes falling away before…

SOD IT!

"Break into Sections!" I ordered, kicking a black in the balls and slamming the bronze edge of my shield into his face, "Move Up, Get To The Valemen! **NOW!** "

The line broke and my men formed into six man groups, the enemy faltered as the solid line of Northerners suddenly slipped past them fluidly, the confusion was so great that several sections held back and slaughtered the stunned blacks.

The advance was just in time as Royals poured into the square from three side roads, the Valemen turned from hunter to hunted in seconds, the only slim relief being the Boers firing madly into the chaos.

I don't know how many I killed, black after black came at us screaming Bloody Murder, but each was slain, focusing on one of us instead of the five others. One stands out in my memory, Torrhen and Maryk parted and the black stumbled through the gap, having swung down at their shields, Llewyn and Callan thrust into his stomach as I opened his neck, I turned my head to keep the blood spray out of my eyes, but the look on his face will always be etched into my memory.

Our advance was made on a carpet of corpses, not just us but a dozen Vale knights were trying to reach Ser Denys, either to rescue him or for safety in numbers, I don't think I'll ever know, but cold as it sounds it drew blacks off us so we made better progress.

Ser Denys' group were holding well, still solid enough for us to make out over the sea of men.

"SER!" I didn't need Jory's shout.

A quad of knights in white and red, shields emblazoned with facing griffons, barged out of an alley, scattering blacks and Valemen alike, one of Ser Denys' knights was killed outright, two more were staggered then dispatched before they could recover.

"Jory, Drop Em!" I bellowed as the leading helmless knight knocked Ser Denys' shield aside and sank the tip of his longsword into Denys' stomach, a dozen arrows soared from the rooftops in answer as Ser Denys fell, one knight caught two on the chest and a third in his helm, the rest caught them on their shields.

I barely noticed as my guards pounced the two unknown knights, I only had eyes for the red haired bastard; I barrelled into him, our shields clashing like castle doors, doing no harm but forcing him away from Ser Denys. He swung at me, I ducked and dodged right then swung my shield at his leg, he buckled but swung in response forcing me to defend as he regained his footing. This time I swing forehand, ducking left as he brings his shield up, then jump back, twisting my body as he thrusts in the space I was about to enter. He kicks up a puddle of blood, then slams his shield into me as I turn my head, narrowly voiding losing my arm.

I blocked his next swing with my sword, but dropped my shield and pulled him in, he opened his mouth but I head butting him before he could speak or more likely spit. I kicked his leg out and spun him onto his knees, a split second later he goes limp as the pommel of my sword slams into his right temple.

The enemy all over the square seems to falter as he falls; my men form up around me as soldiers in black and yellow storm out of the sept, led by a brute of a man wearing a black antlered helm.

"WHO'S NEXT!" I bellow, the blacks visibly waver, then break into a run as a war horn blows from the south road, I look round to see Lord Eddard at the head of my Cataphracts and the rest of the Northern cavalry.

The enemy turn tail and run, the remaining Valemen and Legionaries move to chase. "Stay Your Feet!" I bellow, the men stop at once, "Leave Them For The Fresh Forces, Secure The Square And Tend The Wounded!"

I barely notice my men move off or the Vale knights standing there as I kneel down and check Ser Denys for a pulse, I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding when I found it.

I stood up and noted the four knights, "You two," I said pointing at the nearest, "Ser Denys is alive but wounded, take him to the healers," the knights sighed in relief and picked up their commander, I turned to the other two, "gather some men and set a watch on the walls with a rotating schedule," the two knights nodded and left.

I take a last look around the square, noting the soldiers looting and piling the bodies, the last dregs of adrenaline burn out and fatigue crashes through me, I walk over to the fountain and stare into the water.

I look like something out of a horror film, the black steel is drenched, the furs wringing wet, the blue cloth under the chain mail is purple or dark red. My face is fairly clean but not untouched.

I never knew blood was so heavy.

As I turn to head to camp, I spot two Boers helping a third off the nearest roof.

No. Not a Boer.

"Jory!"

The teen looks up and yelps as I stride over, a foot long shaft sticking out of his shoulder.

"You promised me, Jory!" watching him struggle to move without pain leaves me feeling so helpless.

"I dodged three," he tries uncertainly.

"Get to the Healer," I sigh, the teen smiles and hobbles off, I turn to his sergeant, "How'd we fair?"

"We got off lightly," the Boer shrugged, then looked sadly at the dozen blue and black clad bodies, "bout a dozen got it in the square."

"Damn it!" I hate losing men; they trust me to pull them through and I hate I can't keep that promise. I know it isn't possible and so do they, but it doesn't stop the guilt or second guessing, "collect the names and find a cart, they're men of the North, they died defending it so they deserve to be buried back home, not in a ditch in some southern field."

"Aye M'Lord," the sergeant acknowledged and headed off.

I start the long slog back to my tent, I need to rest.

* * *

"My Lord?"

I wake with a start to find a guardsman in Stark colours peering into my tent, "Your presence is requested."

A quick check shows I'm still clad in shirt and jeans so I quickly don my boots, sword and a mail shirt before following the guard out.

He leads me out of the camp and into the town, specifically to one of the buildings next to the sept.

The guards stopped at the door and I entered to find three tables full of Lords, I snagged a tankard of ale from a passing scantily clad girl and settled in my usual spot between Lords Manderly and Reed.

"Good of you to join us," Wyman greeted me.

"Trying to catch some sleep in my tent," I told him, "fighting for a quarter mile through black and reds is exhausting."

"We can imagine," Howland replied, "we were with Lord Eddard so we saw you in the square."

"So this is the Beast that carved his way through Connington's finest," the whole room seemed to focus on me as I stared at a lean and muscular man, in front of him was the antlered helm I briefly glimpsed earlier.

"And you are?" I shot back, earning many disbelieving looks.

The man laughed, "Ha, got some teeth, this one. Lord Robert Baratheon, the sod you showed up to rescue."

"They showed up to rescue," I corrected, pointing to Lords Arryn, Tully and both Starks, "I'm just the bastard that's sworn an oath of fealty and too stubborn to die."

"Keep an eye on this one, Ned," Robert said to his frowning friend.

"Connington, you said?" I asked, something tickling at my memory.

"Aye, Hand to the Mad King and a Traitor to the Stormlands," Robert declared, "pity you didn't kill him."

"We collared his kid at Khillesshandra," I remembered him flailing in terror as we dragged him from his burning horse onto the rooftops.

Robert blinked in shock then laughed uproariously, "got the full set, did ye? Good lad!"

"And a friend of Prince Rhaegar's," I added as an afterthought, a bad idea in hindsight as Robert swelled in fury.

"All The Better, I'll send that Bastard a message he'll never forget!" Robert roared, standing up.

"For what?" I demanded, bringing the Stormlander up short.

"FOR KIDNAPPING MY BETROTHED, ALYSA STARK!" he roared.

"And _How_ do you know that?" I argued, bringing his rage to a halt, "nothing but hearsay and rumour, no facts, that same bullshit got Rickard Stark and several others killed, because Brandon went off half cocked. The Mad King needs to be brought down, no arguing there, but we don't know if Rhaegar is involved or as much a victim as you and your betrothed."

Unbelievably, Robert is actually thinking my words over, "and how do you suggest we find the truth?"

"Bar taking the Prince alive?" I asked rhetorically, then drained my ale, "we've got one source."

* * *

The young man yelped as the cold water drenched him, scrambling to his feet. "Connington!" Robert said loudly.

"Robert?" he yelped as another bucket was emptied over him, "I'm awake, damn it!"

"That was for the smell," Howland shot back smugly.

"Alysa Stark," I barked, "Talk!"

"It was a joke!" he said, quickly elaborating as Robert swelled in fury, "The Crown was a joke! Me and Richard got drunk and bet Rhaegar if he won he'd crown the next prettiest girl there!"

"Sounds like something Richard would do," Robert admitted, "Then what?"

"Nothing," Teryn protested, "The King had us running around the Stormlands for a month, we didn't know they were missing until after Rickard died!"

"We?" I asked.

"Me, Richard and Rhaegar," he explained, "we were together the whole time, there wasn't any chance to kidnap her!"

"You're Certain?" I demanded.

"I Swear by The Seven it's True!" he protested, "Rhaegar isn't that kind of man, even if he was there wasn't an opportunity to kidnap them!"

Robert stared at the man for a long moment, then sighed, "I believe you, Teryn."

"Food'll be along shortly," I told him as Robert led the others out, a glance at a Boer conveyed the order.

Outside Robert stepped to one side and leaned heavily against the side of the ad hoc cell house, "Seven Hells!"

"This changes things," I said grimly.

"If I face him, I don't think I could stop myself killing him," Robert admitted.

"Then leave him to me," I advised, "keep your eye on the prize, we bring down Aerys we end this."

"Then we can focus on what comes after," Brandon added.

"Let's go," Robert said, heaving himself off the wall and leading the way back into town.

As I followed, I wondered what would come next.


	6. A Godless Fire Burns

A/N: The Battle of the Trident will be featured in a flashback during Rhaegar's next chapter, also I'm putting Tyrion's birthdate to 267 AC, that would make him fourteen during the Rebellion and I apologise for the oversight, I will also mention why he's in King's Landing in his next chapter. And Cersei is travelling through the Riverlands with her aunt who is married to a Frey, which is mentioned, returning from a visit to the Twins.

As I've already mentioned, I'm playing with the facts a bit and I believe English is the common tongue so there should be some regional dialects, correct me if I'm wrong though.

I had considered adding cannon, but I figured it would be too much, I do plan to send Euron Greyjoy to Davy Jones with one but that'll be during the Rebellion at best. WWI type mines will be seen before that though, if you wonder what I mean google 3rd battle of Ypres and Messines Mines.

Also, I was going to do King's Landing and Dorne in one chapter, but it simply got too long, the conquest of Dorne will be seen through Oberyn's eyes in his first chapter, or at least the aftermath of his failure anyway.

 **If you don't like it read another story.**

* * *

A Godless Fire Burns

I will never forget the ride after the Trident; I can't remember being so tired as during those long days. By the Trident my forces had doubled in size, mostly from survivors of other units, and all were trained and blooded, so I rode on King's Landing with over nine hundred men.

We'd taken Rhaegar alive, though if he had faced Robert the Bard Prince would likely be dining with the Drowned God, Robert had a bezerker fit in the ford. Seems our friendly bard thought my men were the bigger threat, though I will grant I'd given the Boers both slings and frag grenades so he may have been just a _tad_ concerned with how a good portion of the centre and left flank along with two reserve forces disappeared in quick order and an unhealthy cloud of smoke.

One thing was confirmed, the heartthrob ponce knew nothing about the missing Stark girls.

I persuaded the Lords Stark that we needed to move immediately, the Reach and Dorne were both loyal and had largely untouched forces, if we waited we risked King's Landing being reinforced before we could finish the war, we could not defeat a combined army, hells we'd struggle with one given our overall loses.

Robert was sold surprisingly quickly and ordered all available cavalry to ride, a combined force of nearly six thousand.

We made good time but our horses were tiring more easily now, with each day my heart grew tighter, I knew what we'd find so I prayed daily we'd make it in time and each day the wind pressed at our backs as though urging us on.

The men were in good spirits, they had every right to be after the Trident, they boasted what feats they'd accomplish when they reached the city.

Then we smelt it.

"Smell that?" Teryn Connington said, I'd let him out as he was the best choice to guide us through the keep, "that's the smell of Power."

I'd smelt that once before, and it wasn't shit.

"Brimstone," I muttered and kicked my horse into a gallop, ignoring the shouts of my men and Lords I rode until I reached the bank, just short of the crest I dismounted heavily and staggered on, at the crest I fell to my knees.

"No…" I begged, tears streaming down my face as my mind struggled to comprehend the horror below, "Merciful Gods, No…"

The walls ringed the city as an eerie orange glow, not unlike Minas Morghul in the Two Towers, glowing orange rivers stretched as far as could be seen, columns of smoke fed a blanket of black cloud that hung below the spires of the Great Sept, the only places untouched were the Red Keep and the Great Sept, islands of calm above the raging inferno below, they would be lit up as fires flashed from buildings collapsing, shadows framed against the looming clouds as they seemed to flash with orange lightning.

"Gods have Mercy," Brandon whispered as he joined me.

"What do we do?" Torrhen Frost, one of my guards, asked helplessly.

As the Keep was lit by a flash the tightness in my heart snapped, in its place was a tiny spot of terrible cold that seeped into my chest.

I rose and barked out, "We Finish This, we ride for the Keep, kill the King and secure what's left of the Royal Family!"

Brandon repeated my order as I mounted, "Get us there, and make it fast!"

* * *

I don't remember too much of the ride through the city, the one thing that's clear is a trio of Lannister knights raping a Septa outside the burning church.

After an eternity we thundered over the drawbridge and into the castle.

Lannister soldiers spun round, readying swords and bows until they saw the Direwolf sigil, then went back to either raping, looting or killing the last living Loyalists.

"They only just got in," I muttered, "Torrhen, take half the men and secure the Tower of the Hand, the rest of you with Me, we're taking the Holdfast!"

My men split up as the Lords Stark led their men to the Throne Room, most heading with Torrhen, but at least a hundred followed me as I tried to keep pace with Teryn.

There were few Lannisters inside, but plenty of recently dead or dying Loyalists, twice I saw a wounded Loyalist stagger upright and try to face us only to collapse on the swing, several times men stopped to aid wounded Loyalists or check rooms.

"This way, the Princess' rooms are on the next floor!" Teryn shouted, pointing at a staircase at the end of the corridor.

As we started climbing, a women's scream pierced the air followed by a babies cries, Teryn and I exchanged a look then barrelled up the stairs, entering the landing we found three Lannister Men-at-Arms next to a closed door, the soldier's eyes widen in shock at the Stark colours on our shields.

"What're you doing here?" one screamed, fumbling for his sword while trying to hold his open breeches up, my face curls into a snarl and I sling my shield, palming a fire grenade I hook the fuse pin as my men form ranks.

"I could say the same for you!" Teryn shouts.

Everyone jumps as the door opens and a knight resplendent in Lannister red steps out, he does a double take at us, "Oh Shit!"

For a moment we simply stare at each other, then all eyes turn to the open door at a loud crunch, the baby cries silence as the woman wails in anguish.

My eyes meet those of who could only be Amory Lorch, they widen in fear as cold fire flares in my heart.

His sword is barely out of its sheath before the grenade shatters on his chest, the oil spreading over his neck and shoulders before the wick catches, I don't hear his screams as I turn to the first soldier.

He swings at me overhand, eyes bright with terror, I block the blade and punch him with my left hand, turning him halfway around. I threw my arm round his throat and pulled him in, he fell limp as I thrust my blade into his armpit.

A second tried to rush me but I shoulder barged him away, where Teryn split his head like a melon, he then charged through the door, I was on his heels as the lads finished the third.

The Mountain looked like something out of a bad fantasy film, he was clad in black: black plate, black mail, black furs, black clothes, his outer armour was made from two by three inch plates riveted to a leather coat, black of course, but the contours showed a breastplate underneath. The craftsmanship looked rough, which seemed to add to his presence, his helmet was shaped like a coal scuttle with a grill but easily a sixteenth inch thick, he had a studded leather loincloth and skirts over his thighs, which along with his codpiece were discarded.

He was atop of a woman I could only assume was the Princess, he only stops and takes notice as we step up behind him, he turns round slowly but it became a swing that throws me into a wall as I bury my sword tip in his right elbow.

My head swims and I bring my hand to my forehead, idly I note its wet, I look thinking it's my blood but there are grey bits mixed in. I look to my left in horror to find the body of a baby, thankfully covered by Clegane's thigh skirts as the neck is nearly flush with the wall.

The fire roars in fury as I rise, Clegane has killed two of my men and is raising his sword to finish Teryn, I thrust my sword back into his wounded elbow and the joint separates, his arm held together only by a few inches of muscle and tendon.

The Mountain roars and swings his bad arm, forcing me to duck his trailing limb, as he turns to face me Teryn jumps on the monster's back, the man arches his back and reaches for Teryn with his good hand, I take advantage of the presented target and ram my sword to the hilt through Clegane's unprotected crotch. I see his testicles drop in his sack, I feel his bladder burst, his bowels tear like paper, finally something else bursts and the Mountain drops to his knees, howling in agony.

Teryn drops to the ground but yelps as the Mountain tries to grab me, "What Does It Take To Kill This _THING_?"

"Take His Head Off!" I bellow, scrambling out of Clegane's reach, I bump into the Princess and I pull her face into my shoulder just as Maryk lops Clegane's head off with his own sword.

The Mountain's body continues to twitch for several moments, leading Maryk and Alain to stab it multiple times.

The body stopped twitching after a few seconds, I released the Princess as she started shaking her head furiously, I get up and Teryn goes to comfort her.

I look over Clegane, my eyes go to his bloody crotch, but instead of wanting to empty my stomach at the horrific wound a thought pops into my head, "you know what? I thought Clegane would be bigger than this."

"Bigger?" Maryk repeats incredulously, looking pointedly at the eight foot something corpse.

"He's built like a bull, sure, but hung like a cat, I'm hung better than that!" they look at me incredulously, then at Clegane and laugh, at my comment or the absurdity of it I don't know.

"Rhaenys!"

"Calm down, Elia," Teryn suddenly has his hands full of squirming Dornish woman, "Where is she?"

"The next room to the right," I jerk my head at Maryk who signals two Boers to follow him.

The Princess fidgets restlessly in Teryn's arms until my men return, she cries in delight as the little girl rushes into her arms.

"Alain, go check the Tower's clear," the Cataphracht nods and heads off, "Princess, do you have any Dornish handmaidens and does any servant have a child that could be mistaken for your daughter?"

The Princess looks at me in confusion, "yes, Arienne is Dornish, her rooms are just down the hall, her daughter is four."

"Callan, with me," the Cataphract followed me out, we searched the rooms until we found a room which contained a dead Lannister Man-at-Arms, a Dornish woman and a girl that resembled the woman. The soldier had a short curved knife buried in the side of his neck and his rather unimpressive prick out, clearly the woman had caught him by surprise but it clearly hadn't saved her or her daughter from being raped then having their throats slit.

"Take the girl," I ordered and hefted the dead woman onto my shoulder, Callan heads out the door in front of me, we return to the Princess' room to find her and her daughter bundled up in cloaks.

"Why did you bring them?" the Princess asks in a tight voice.

"Your best chance of leaving this city alive is if the Lannisters think you are dead," I say in a flat voice, my stomach feels about to rebel as I contemplate my next task, "take her to the tower of the hand and secure rooms on the upper floors for them, let no one enter the upper levels unless I am there, if anyone asks the old hand left a store of Wildfire."

I don't need to turn around to know the Princess is about to protest, "GO!"

I wait until the footsteps fade before raising my sword, "My Lord, you don't need to do this," Callan says.

"I will not ask this task of another," I reply flatly and bring the blade down.

* * *

A loud banging jerks me from my slumber, I groan loudly, "Enter!"

Callan opens the door, revealing young Jory looking as nervous as a choir boy in a brothel, "Lord Starks requests you presence, My Lord."

"Tell him I'm coming," I say, climbing out of bed.

Jory hurries off leaving a grinning Callan, "Sleep well, My Lord?"

He retreats at my glare, the smug git knows I haven't slept well as Princess Elia had a fit when I told her the rebels had taken the city and we were rebels. She sobered when I loudly pointed out I could have left her to the Lannisters.

In twenty minutes I was walking into a fairly crowded Throne Room, Aerys' blood still staining the stairs to the Iron Throne, Ser Jaime simply had that smug grin that I really wanted to punch off him, I walked over to the Lords Stark and nodded in greeting, "My Lords."

"Greetings, Orys," Brandon greeted me, "I take it you heard what happened last night?"

"Which part?" I snorted, "Aerys killed by his own Sworn Kingsguard? The Hand trying to booby trap the city with Wildfire?"

"Speaking of which, your men claim there's a large cache of such in the Tower of the Hand?" Eddard inquired.

"Couple of tons, maybe?" I replied, while there wasn't actually Wildfire in the Hand's Tower there were two separate rooms packed to the rafters with enough ingredients and part finished mixtures to make at least two tons of the stuff, "but it's all in a pair of darkened rooms lined with ice."

"Thank the Gods for small mercies," Brandon replied, "apparently the Lannisters got to Rhaegar's family."

"Don't know about that," I answered, my best poker face on, "I went through the Holdfast myself, most we found was a monster of a knight hacked to pieces, kept the head in case there's a bounty, I put it in the ice rooms."

The two men looked at me contemplatively, but their attention turned to the doors as Robert was announced.

The man strode in clad in full plate, Warhammer in hand, leading a full company of Baratheon knights, behind them was Rhaegar, collared and shackled on the end of ten foot chain.

Robert climbed the stairs, planted his hammer by the Throne and turned to face the crowd, "Well? Where Is He?"

"The Oathbreaker shanked the King last night," I called out, making sure no one outside the Northerners could tell it was me, Jaime briefly sent a glare at our side of the Hall but was quickly subdued by Robert's own, more Intense, glare.

"As most of you are aware, Rhaegar Targaryen still lives," I rolled my eyes and caught a grin from Brandon as Eddard did the same, "this leaves our little rebellion in a difficult position, on the one hand the Royal shit fought against us, though he didn't count on Lord Talion."

"Why does everyone underestimate me?" I joked, earning a few laughs.

"On the other hand, he had nothing to do with the actions of his mad father which started this war to begin with," Robert continued, "becoming a victim of it much as we have."

"Therefore, I Decree that Rhaegar Targaryen and his family, when they're found, be released as Wards into the custody…" the speech is interrupted as the Hall door opens, permitting thirty men in red and brown plate armour, one helmetless man in heavily gilded plate, and three litters with large Lannister cloaks.

The leader could only be Tywin Lannister, an impressive figure even now, he had that air of authority great leaders possess.

"That better not be what I think it is…" Brandon warned.

"No, he can't…" I muttered in horror.

"My Lord, Baratheon," Tywin greeted, he then gestured the Litter bearers as Robert greeted him back, "in honour of our Triumph, House Lannister presents a gift."

The cloaks were thrown back, everyone took a step back, even Jaime looked sickened by his Father's actions.

Then Rhaegar wailed in anguish and Tywin stopped, noting the former Prince for the first time, twin growls behind and beside me told me I wasn't alone in noting the pleased glint in his eye.

Tywin turned back, ignoring Rhaegar's sobs, "the bodies of Princess Elia and her ch…"

"Murder!"

"ChildSlayer!"

Brandon and Eddard were the only voices but all could feel the Rage flowing off the Northmen, but as the others seethed I stepped forward.

The woman and girl had been mistaken as I planned, but my eyes were drawn to the boy, I don't remember what I saw, must have been horrible enough for my mind to suppress it, but worse… I felt empty, not cold…

Empty.

"…Dragonspawn…" I didn't hear the rest, that one word fanned the cold fire in my heart to a Blaze.

"Dragonspawn?" I demanded, "A man's wife and children are Murdered, their killer dares present their bodies as a gift and all you can say is Dragonspawn?"

"The King does not answer…"

I spin round on the Old Lion, _**"BY THE GODS' GRACE MAY YOU DIE IN DRAGON FIRE!"**_

Tywin frowns at me, not understanding the Old Tongue but I don't care, I've already marched to the centre of the room, "I Was _THERE_ When This Madness Began! Here In This Very Room!"

"The Mad King stood there and murdered two men and five hundred stood silent, making no moves to stop the atrocity, I saw them as they watched their peers mocked and tortured for a Tyrant's Pleasure," I pointed to exactly where Robert was standing, doing nothing to keep the Rage out of my voice, "It Was Here I Chose To Save A Life, Here I Chose To Defy A King, Here I Swore To Bring That Tyrant Down."

"I have Bleed for this Rebellion," my voice drops, low… _Feral_ , "I have led Good Men to their Deaths, Slaughtered hundreds who were only following orders, I Drowned Half an Army in the Trident, drove a Dragon Prince into the Dirt, Rode into Damnation _Itself_ to end this War… None of that was to Trade one Tyrant For _Another_!"

One of the new Kingsguard steps forward hand on his sword's hilt, "No One threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard!"

Red flashes in the edges of my sight as my eyes meet the knight's, Ser Meryn Trant, in a flash my blade is out and ready, the Kingsguard is sluggish to respond, even Jaime Lannister who I'll admit is their best man right now.

"I Broke Barristan Selmy while Knee Deep in The Trident," I growl out, as I meet each man's eyes they flinch ever so slightly, "I Can Cut Through the Five Of You Like Carving a CAKE!"

I can almost taste the fear, the uncertainty, even Jaime, so cocksure, so proud, trembling in his boots, Seeing the Demon of the Trident with his own eyes…

"Here Boy," half the Hall flinches as my blade clatters to the ground.

"Melt it down and add it to the _Others_ ," I spit contemptuously, I raise my arm in a Nazi salute, "All Hail Robert Baratheon, the King of Bones!"

I turn and stride out, caring neither I nearly bowl over Tywin Lannister or for the calls of my name from the Hall. All I feel is Rage, a Lust for Blood and Destruction.

There's still a War to win, the Tyrells still have the run of the Stormlands and the Dornish will be baying for Blood.

They want Blood? Then I'll drown them in It.


	7. Oberyn I

A/N: The Dragonspawn thing isn't meant to be like Canon. Orys' mind is becoming more feral, less human as the fighting goes on, he doesn't consciously hear what Robert is saying, instead his mind latches onto one part that provokes a response.

Tywin presenting the bodies like that is a shock for everyone, even Robert who reacts unthinkingly, as not only is Rhaegar alive but somewhat of a sympathetic figure among the rebels, a son doing an unpleasant duty out of love for his Father. Tywin will not be looked on favourably for this outside the Westerlanders.

As I said, Robert reacted unthinkingly to a severe shock, he doesn't hate Rhaegar like he did Aerys but hate like that is powerful and is hard to let go in a hurry, he does not agree with Tywin's actions himself and there will be punishment but what this will take is not yet clear.

Oberyn I

 _The fort was an ugly thing; small, squat but its drystone walls were very thick, far thicker than those of any comparable wall or keep in all of Dorne, meaning it could shrug off punishment that would bring its contemporaries crashing down, the only thing he had that could have done serious damage was the trebuchets, but the blasted thing was too small for them to hit._

 _Oberyn had to give the Northern designer credit, the little bastard was just small enough to be built cheaply and quickly but large enough you needed several thousand men to attack or siege it._

 _Armies larger than a thousand died quickly in Dorne._

 _Attempts had been made to destroy the three forts since Sunspear had first learned of their existence, but all had failed mostly due to the forts relatively superior design and construction, but also due to a force of cavalry that roved between the three forts and attacked traders and farms along the roads attacking from behind or hitting their supply caravans while they sieged the forts._

 _Neither his Mother nor Brother would act, now it was his turn._

"Prince Oberyn?"

 _These Northerners fought well…_

 _He dodged a thrust and deflected a second with the haft of his spear, driving his spear tip into the man's shoulder, blood poured from the severed vein, leaking through furs and between plates as he fell, a loud clang heralded the second Northerner falling as he was knocked out by a blow to the head._

 _Pausing for breath he examined the two Northmen, both had faded blue wolf's eyes painted on their helmets above their own._

 _Curious, he wondered what that meant._

 _The metallic song of those accursed steel bows was accompanied by a cheer, looking up Oberyn saw a Northerner wearing the heavier steel armour step out of the door to the stairs, his pauldrons were gilded._

 _An officer._

 _A challenge, perhaps?_

"Prince OBERYN!"

 _He reeled as the Northern officer slammed the brow rim of their helmet into his face, barely dodging the thrust and just blocked the backhand._

 _He regretted wanting a challenge, this Northerner fought less like a man and more like a beast in a man's skin, and a predator at that._

 _Wait! Is that?_

" _What's that?" he wondered aloud, squinting to get a better look as the Northerner turned around._

 _There was a girl on the ramparts, she looked maybe seventeen, pale skin, long black hair blowing in the wind, a full bosom and womanly hips for her age were displayed by the thin dress or long shirt being pressed to her body by the wind as she stumbled round in a daze, walking along the wall guiding herself with her hands pressed to the stone._

 _Then the wind fell and her hair was no longer in her face._

" _The Stark girl?"_

 _The officer turns back to him in alarm but raises his guard too late, the spear tip scythes through his eye, sending the man to the ground, howling in agony as the venom eats at his wounded flesh._

 _He stalked over to the girl, his blood singing for vengeance for Elia, he can't help a small measure of pity though, the child is clearly dazed and confused, she seems to be barely aware that a battle is raging._

 _He could see how Rhaegar would be tempted, a rare beauty, that wouldn't save her._

" _Justice for you, My Sister," he says aloud, the girl snaps out of her trance as he raises his spear, eyes wide in terror, but something grabs him from behind before he can strike._

 _He stumbles as the throw sends him into the wall, he barely gets the spear up before an armoured fist slams through it, shattering the shaft a foot from the tip, a second blow strikes his cheek with enough force to send him stumbling several feet._

 _The hands grasp him again, hauling onto the rampart, his stomach drops as he gazes on his attacker._

 _It's not the ruined eye that frightens him, he's not a stranger to the effects of his preferred poisons, no it's the animal rage in the other._

 _He only has time to cry out before he's caught in the Earth's terrible grip, he glances once off the wall before rolling off the curved base and slamming into one of the cavalry obstacles in the ditch at its base with enough force to black out…_

"OBERYN GET UP!"

He jerked upright and regretted the movement instantly, groaning in agony as his bruised bones protested.

A snort comes from the doorway, "on your feet, Brother, Mother has summoned us," his brother Doran calls to him, behind Doran is Areo Hotah, Doran's devoted guard.

"I am coming," Oberyn groans, slowly rising from his bed.

* * *

It take nearly twenty minutes for the wounded Prince to reach his Mother, strangely she wasn't in her solar.

She seemed to be staring out at Sunspear, but a closer look revealed something horrifying, "What happened to the wall?" he asked in horror.

"The results of your misguided attack," Princess Adrienne Martell retorted, "Sit!"

The two Princes settled into the chairs, idly noting the map from the War room on a table next to their mother.

"I never believed Dorne could be defeated Militarily," Adrienne said, "nor that I would live to see it, but it is to my undying shame it has happened through my Sons."

"Mother…"

"Silence! Your Princess speaks," she barked.

"When the Northern vanguard came, I believed they would act like every other invader," She said, "as did Doran, we did not see the danger in them building defences until it was too late, but by then an attack would be too costly."

For the first time she looked at her sons, "Tell me, what have those forts done to shift the balance in this war?"

Oberyn was confused, he couldn't see a clear advantage.

"Dorne's greatest weakness is the scarcity of water," Doran replied, "by building these forts and, presumably, digging wells for them they eliminate the reliance on supply trains for water, limiting the damage we could inflict on their forces compared to previous invasions, by taking food from the farms they eliminate that issue as well."

"Close, but not quite," Adrienne said, "every previous commander has tried to end their invasions quickly and decisively, which we usually deny them and exploit their reliance on supply lines. The forts establish a permanent presence, not only do the wells inside reduce their reliance on supply lines but those same supply lines are shorter, easier to protect."

"Dorne's economy is fragile," Adrienne continued, "it is in a delicate balance between what food is imported and what little is grown locally, but it is perfect for our needs, disrupt that balance as these forts have and very quickly there are food shortages that cripple us."

"Destroying the forts to free the roads is the only option to restore the balance," Doran deduced, "but that would leave any force vulnerable to the same problems we've used so effectively on attackers before."

"I lost more men to dehydration than combat," Oberyn admitted.

"Leaving us with a vengeful enemy at our gates and depleted forces to face them with," Adrienne concluded, it was then Oberyn noted the army camped beyond the walls.

"We can't surrender!" he exclaimed, "we must fight, For Elia!"

Adrienne held her hand out to her son, palm up, "give me my armies, Oberyn. Give me my men and women with which to smite this foe." Oberyn's eyes dropped to the floor in shame.

"How did they break our walls?" Oberyn asked after a few moments.

"We knew they were digging tunnels," Doran answered, "mining the walls, I have no idea what they used but it sundered the earth under the walls with fire and thunder, I can't believe you slept through it."

"It would seem our time is up," both brothers looked out to see a party of nearly thirty riders approach under a flag of truce.

"This isn't right," Oberyn protested, though he knew terms were the only chance for them.

"We do what we must," Adrienne admitted, "come, this will be my last official act as Princess, I want you both to watch and learn from this."

"Yes Mother."

* * *

The first thing he noticed was the mix of banners, the Falcon of Arryn stood by several Northern banners but what stood out were the black and blue armoured men with the Stark Direwolf on their flags, they clearly served a different lord but why not his own symbol.

Those men did not look friendly at all, but stayed curiously close to a Septa of all things and a young girl, an orphan maybe, the group dismounted and save a handful that remained with the horses they followed Areo into the Old Palace.

When they entered he was seated to his Mother's left, Doran on the right, he was in a high backed chair to better support his tender body.

"Lords Arryn and Stark," the herald announced, the party entered with the named Lords leading with their personal guards, behind were the men in black and blue around the Septa.

"Greetings Your Grace," Lord Arryn greeted, bowing respectfully, as did Lord Stark and their guards, the other men gave a stiff half bow, preferring to keep their eyes on both the guards and him.

"Greetings Lord Arryn, Lord Stark," his mother returned the greeting, "To what does Dorne owe the Honour of your presence?"

"Negotiations for the End of Hostilities between Dorne and the remaining Kingdoms," Lord Arryn began, "and preferably a further settlement for Dorne's return to the Kingdom's with the Princess, or Prince swearing an oath of Fealty as the Lady or Lord-Paramount of Dorne."

"But first, we present a gift," the Martells watched in confusion as Lord Arryn gestured to one of the men in black and blue armour, the man nodded and gently took the Septa's arm and led her and the girl forward.

Oberyn wondered what kind of joke they were playing, then he noticed the girl looked very familiar, then the Septa lowered her hood.

"Elia?" Adrienne gasped, tears streamed down her cheeks as she embraced the child she'd believed lost.

He couldn't believe it, his mind refused to believe until the girl wrapped him in a hug and he gazed into a face so alike his little sister's in her youth, he leaned forward and embraced the girl, "Rhaenys? We thought we'd lost you."

"Both of you," Doran agreed.

"How did you escape?" Adrienne asked her daughter after a moment.

"Most of the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms saw Tywin Lannister present your bodies to our new King," Doran pointed out.

"They saw what they were meant to see," Oberyn's jaw dropped as he studied the man. No, it couldn't be…

"How did you survive?" he asked the Northerner in wonder.

The man snorted, "Rage is a hell of a painkiller. That, a Red Priest and being too stubborn to die helps."

"Lord Talion was able to rescue the Princess from Tywin Lannister's men," Lord Stark explained.

"Not before they got the baby," the now named Lord Talion admitted, "speaking off which, I present the heads of Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch, Tywin's preferred attack dogs."

Two boxes were brought forward, judging by the cold feel they were lined with ice, when opened Oberyn recognised the 'Mountain that Rides' in a heartbeat.

"You killed the Mountain?"

"I lost four men dead and seven wounded to varying degrees," Talion scowled, "that thing just wouldn't die."

"I left Elia's Dornish handmaiden, already deceased, and her daughter for the Lannisters to find, I figured they wouldn't search the city for a corpse they already had," Talion supplied.

Adrienne stood to her full height and walked over to the Northerner, then bowed low, "House Martell owes you a Great Debt Lord Talion, such Service will be generously rewarded."

"No," he said plainly, "no debts, no rewards. Hell itself opened onto the streets of King's Landing that night, I saw things there that'll haunt me as long as I live. When I had the chance to save two lives from the atrocities of the night I took it. Part of me died that night, I don't think I could ever look in a mirror again if I hadn't tried to save something… someone from that War Crime."

It was hard not to feel sympathetic to the man at the end, Oberyn could certainly believe he lost a part of his humanity as Talion had fought with an animal rage he'd never faced before, but also because he had heard stories of the Sack from traders, he wondered how he himself might have been changed by it.

"Nevertheless, a debt is owed," his mother insisted.

"Perhaps we should discuss this later," Lord Arryn suggested, "I'm sure your daughter and granddaughter would like to refresh themselves or rest and this war must be brought to conclusion before more lives are lost."

"Of course Lord Arryn," Adrienne agreed, "Oberyn, show Elia and Rhaenys to their rooms and see to their needs, Doran come with me."

Oberyn released his niece and stood gingerly, then walked over to Lord Talion, trying not to be unnerved by the mismatched eyes, "Thank you."

"Tywin Lannister will not leave them be," Talion warned, "he's not used to being defied, he'll come after them once he knows they live."

"He will not take my sister from me again," Oberyn declared.

"Words won't stop him, plan for everything and anything," Talion suggested, "I hope we can meet again in more favourable times."

"Indeed, it has been… interesting," Oberyn agreed, then bowed and followed his sister out, turning back to the most important part of life, Family.


End file.
